


There are a lot of new characters and it's complicated

by unluckyxse7en



Series: Chaosbound [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Amygda (character), Belphe (character), Cilone (character), Dayekh (character), Dubcon or Noncon Moirallegiance, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fan Characters, Fantrolls, Faygo (Homestuck), Gen, Horrorterrors - Freeform, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, Lailla (character), Mind Control, Mind Manipulation, Mind Reading, Original Character(s), Original Troll Character(s) - Freeform, Pesterlog, Quokka (character), Trollian, Underage Drinking, Zeerce (character), fan trolls, faygo as intoxicant, idk if this is even how faygo works on trolls but here we are I guess, it's faygo but it's the same concept, no canon characters, troll quirk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-25 15:44:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14381808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unluckyxse7en/pseuds/unluckyxse7en
Summary: a collection of short things I've written for my various fantrolls. This particular collection is all written within a time span of a few days in their timeline, hopping from one troll to another as you encounter them. It sort of drops you into their story impromptu, but things should become a little easier to understand as you read.I try to stay a little faithful to troll terminology at least in descriptions if not dialogue, but a lot of dialogue and narrative utilizes English human colloquialisms and concepts; I may come back and change those if I have the chance, but currently I don't know if I'll get a chance to edit that thoroughly. please bear with me.*Archive warnings, tags and pairs might change as I develop more 'chapters', since this isn't following a specific plot but sort of wanders in and out of each troll's life. That said, I don't expect there to be any major changes that would affect something such as rating. warnings that should apply will be listed at the beginning of each chapter.





	1. ==> Be Belphe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cobaltblood Belphe Guille wakes from an unpleasant dreaming on Derse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: underage drinking/substance abuse, gaslighting, nightmares, panic attacks, implied ptsd
> 
> ==> You are now Belphe

It was dark. More than dark. It was the void. You can barely see anything, your nocturnal eyes straining with so little light to work with. But the sounds. Oh god, the sounds. The space is filled with the blood-curdling shrieks of the Elder gods of the furthest ring. They penetrate your outer shell with ease, shocking you to the core with their pitch and fury. It’s overwhelming. It’s as if the sound had physical form and was surrounding you, suffocating you.  
You feebly attempt to cover your ears, reduce the decibel level in your aural sponges, to no avail. Your breathing turns to hyperventilation, imperceptible under the blanket of roaring sonar waves. Impossibly, the screams seem to escalate, louder and louder, until they no longer suffocate you, but permeate your very being, the vibrations possessing every molecule in you, forcing them to synchronize to its mayhem pitch. It suffuses every iota in you and you can't take it, you can't take the deafening force it's tearing you apart all the way to your soul and---  
You jolt awake from your recuperacoon, your every muscle vibrating with tension. The shrieks and cries continue to ring in your ears. You can still feel the ghost of their vibrations imperceptibly across your body, even half submerged in sopor slime as you are. But that's just carryover from sleeping, isn't it? You can't actually hear them all the way from the furthest ring, can you? You're too far away to feel their anger across your outer shell, right?  
Trembling, you yank yourself out of the cocoon, trying to will everything to shake it off, move normally. You find yourself instead curling up into a ball at the foot of your recuperacoon, shivering as you draw your knees to your thorax.  
You can still hear echoes of their screams, filled with a venom unlike anything else you've ever encountered. You're hardly certain whether you're actually hearing them or if it's just you replaying the memory of the ungodly sounds in your head.  
You can't do it. You can't take it anymore.  
Reaching for an unmarked bottle, you pop off the cap and take a swig. The sweet, sugary liquid of Faygo pours into your mouth and almost instantly seems to muffle your thoughts. If you dull your brain, you dull your senses. If you dull your senses, well… let's just say those eldritch gods can bellow whatever they want at you. It won't matter if you can barely hear them.  
Finishing off the bottle, you take a moment as a wave of dizziness hits you. Already everything feels fuzzier, and you can feel your limbs relaxing a little, the tremors fading. You sort of wish it didn't always come to this. You only heard them so keenly this time because you were trying to ease off the drink. You thought maybe if you had just endured it, it would be fine. Well, so much for that.  
Breathing slowly, you feel the dizziness settle into a vague lightheadedness. You grope around absent-mindedly for another bottle. Your long fingers only brush against long-discarded empty ones, laying on the floor here and there. You frown. Maybe it's just as well. You can't sit on the floor of your respiteblock all day, and you sure as hell aren't feeling like going back to sleep. 

You manage to pull yourself to your feet, albeit a bit shakily, and pull on your clothes from the night prior. You don't even realize your communication device is in your pocket, until you reach the door of your block only for it to ping at you. You groan. You were hoping to sneak to the food block, past your caretaker, without any disruption. You pull the device out of your pocket and check the alert. Oh. It's her. She's not one for patience, and another alert pings as you stare at the screen in disgruntled thought. 

Deciding you might as well answer, you sit down at your desk so you can focus on responding. Though perhaps it was a good thing she messaged you when she did - she saved you a trip to the food block. Sitting atop your desk were several more Faygo bottles, labels torn off, all at least half full. Typing out your response, you grab the closest open one and take a long sip from it. 

ruthlessDeceit [RD]  began trolling  dissonantIntellect [DI]   
RD: HEllo, BElphE  
RD: I know you'rE awakE.  
RD: Why arEn’t you rEsponding?  
DI: I'^^ here, I’^^ here.  
DI: vvhat do yov vva^t Zeerce.  
RD: How rudE!  
RD: I'm only chEcking in on my dEarEst moirail, whosE drEamsElf I saw suddEnly drop back aslEEp again!  
RD: So what happEnEd?  
RD: You sEEmEd rEally distrEssEd! 3:<=  
DI:I do^’t thi^k yov vvovld v^dersta^d  
RD: try mE! 3;3=  
DI: It’s the horrorterrors  
DI: they're  
DI: they're too lovd for ^^e.  
DI: it's physically painfvl to hear their voices. Deafe^i^g, eve^.  
DI: It does^’t see^^ like a^yo^e else has this proble^^. Jvst ^^e.  
RD: 3:|=  
RD: that's not truE. ThEy’rE ExtrEmEly loud for mE as wEll!  
DI: vvhat?  
DI: that's ^ot vvhat yov told ^^e last ti^^e.  
RD: how so?  
DI: last ti^^e I asked yov abovt it, yov told ^^e yov al^^ost ^ever hear the^^!!  
RD: you'vE nEvEr askEd mE about thE horrortErrors.

You stare at the violet text on the screen, brow furrowed and head foggy. You're wondering if maybe you're misreading something. What did she mean by that? You know you have! At least, you thought you had?  
Your take another swig of Faygo, now almost gone, while you try to recall the conversation. But it's becoming difficult for you to think straight, and the harder you try to remember, the more it seems to slip through your fingers.  
Maybe… maybe you didn't? Maybe you just thought you had.  
On the screen, Zeerce’s violet letters continue to scroll. Some sort of dull awareness in you makes you realize you ought respond before she gets cross. 

RD: you'vE nEvEr askEd mE about thE horrortErrors.  
RD: Maybe you'rE thinking of somEonE ElsE?  
RD: maybE it was that limEblood, nothing EvEr sEEms to phasE hEr.  
RD: or EvEn that olivEblood, what's hEr namE, ParolE or somEthing?  
RD: She sEEms awfully flighty, shE probably wouldn't noticE a horrortError if it camE up and atE hEr!  
RD: All I know is this is thE first timE you'vE said anything to mE  
RD: But thEy’rE so incrEdibly loud! If I hadn't bEEn awakE so long on DErsE thEy’d probably gEt to mE morE than thEy do now.  
RD: I'm a little surprisEd that they'rE such an issuE for you though. You'vE sEEmEd ok with thEm in thE past?  
RD: BElphE?  
RD: are you still thErE?  
DI: yeah sory  
DI: I thi^k yov’re right, I ^^ust be thi^ki^g of so^^eo^e else. ^^y bad.  
RD: wEll, how unlikE you!  
RD: I know drEamsElvEs can gEt a littlE ditzy but I nEvEr would havE ExpEctEd it from you, EvEn if it was somEthing that was likEly a drEam convErsation!  
RD: you'rE usually so togEthEr! 3:3=  
DI: I guess ^^aybe  
DI: if yvo say so  
RD: your writing is gEtting awfully sloppy thErE, too! What's going on with you?  
DI: I jvst vhhhhh  
RD: 3:?=  
DI: I thi^k I ^ eed to try sleepig^ agai^  
DI: really do^’t feel vvell  
RD: awwww, poor grubling. 3:3=  
RD: go rEst! I'm surE I'll catch up with you on DErsE!  
DI: ^^h^^. Latrr  
dissonantIntellect [DI]  ceased trolling  ruthlessDeceit [RD] 

Vision blurry, you push away from your desk, suddenly feeling like you could just crash. If you were going to black out, it wasn't going to be by slamming your head into your furniture. Not again.  
You stand unsteadily, stumbling back towards your recuperacoon. Dropping your communications device on the floor, you don't even try to change out of your clothes before you all but fall headfirst into the slime. Your consciousness blacks out, and you fall into a quiet, dreamless sleep. 


	2. ==>Belphe: Be Zeerce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Violetblood Zeerce Cruorr reflects on her little chat with her "Moirail", Belphe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: indication of emotional manipulation, abuse, and an abusive relationship; references to underage drinking/substance abuse
> 
>  
> 
> = = > You are now Zeerce.

Leaning back in your seat, you chuckle to yourself, reviewing the most recent pesterlog between you and your moirail, still displayed on your husktop screen. What an open book he was. Scrolling up and down the chatlog, studying his replies with a trained eye, you theorized he must've started drinking the instant he woke up. He hid it well at first, but his slow response times were telling of his inability to type as quickly and coherently as normal. He was probably wasting minutes just editing and correcting any errors he caught. But given how quickly his messages devolved from there, and how he began sending messages rife with typoes he hadn't even have caught… boy, those horrorterrors must have really gotten to him!  
But that suited you just fine. You may have been his moirail, but you certainly weren't his keeper. Besides, the more agitated and unhinged he became, the easier it was to nudge him in the directions you wanted, to twist his elbow just the right way. The substance addiction was just a plus, it made it easier to get away with blatant lies like the one you told him just now.  
You glance to the surface of your desk next to your elbow, gaze specifically landing on a picture frame. Inside its borders, a picture of you and Belphe from your earlier sweeps. You reach over casually, placing the picture frame facedown. You then rise and stretch, before proceeding to make your way over to your chair bag. you fall into the seat and lean back, snickering at the thought of it.  
Of course he came to you about the horrorterrors, you were his moirail! Why would he go to anyone else? You laughed him off the first time, and he'd kept quiet about it for a while... until now. But he must be feeling desperate to say something up front about it. Or he was more sloshed than you'd realized.  
You may have only kept Belphe as your moirail for your own whims, but even you knew that Belphe liked to think he was clever. Secretive. Able to hide things he didn't want you, or anyone else, to know. But you knew every little bit of it, and you took great pleasure knowing how misguided that fool was, about himself and of your knowledge of him. Other trolls, for the most part, kept to themselves, and any he met couldn't possibly fathom that the persona he affected with them wasn't his true self. But you knew. You knew when he was hiding things. You knew when he was at his most vulnerable. He could be as sharp as he used to be and you'd still know. But the way he is now… You snicker once more.  
How ironic you were beginning to feel actual pity for him, now. After all this time, after everything you'd done to wear him down. But with how pathetic he had become, who wouldn't? Still. It was too little, much too late. You had big plans for him, and you weren't about to scrap them over some silly meager red feelings.

Thinking of your plans, an idea occurs to you, and you tent your fingers gleefully as you roll the idea around in your head. Your split lip quirks upward in a devious grin. Oh, yes. This will solve the conundrum you had quite nicely. He won't notice a thing if he's as bad off as you suspect, and you'd been so short on help lately. Ever since you had to teach one of your lowblood slaves a lesson, and lost more to an incident you'd prefer not reflect on... You'd needed more grunts for grunt work. Belphe wasn't normally suited to grunt work... For oh so many reasons really. But this one time shouldn't be too much of an issue.  
Hopping to your feet again, you rush over to your desk, knocking your elbow into the back of the chair in your eagerness. You ignore it though, focusing on your friend roll for just the right handle. Ahh, yes, there it was.... just the shade of purple you wanted to see. And he was even online. Perfect.  
fingers tapping the keys rapidly, you forego any greetings and pretenses, and jump straight into business, giving your perfect little helper all the information he needed to work with. His response arrives suitably fast, and is likewise suitably compliant with your hopes. He sends you some clarifier questions, just to be sure he knew his boundaries - he was just such a considerate assistant, really - and after finalizing the details, he logs off, promising you satisfactory results. You smile, the lighting of your screen reflecting off your face in the dim lighting. He never needed to promise such a thing. He always did such excellent work, and barring one minor incident, had yet to slip up in a way that really got your bleatbeast.  
Feeling reassured by the proceedings, you close your husktop, and return once more to your seat in the chairbag. This was sure to speed things along greatly, and Belphe would be none the wiser. Procuring these materials would ensure that the future the horrorterrors whispered to you would come to pass - and that you, Zeerce, would be the one holding the reins through it all. And that suited you quite nicely.


	3. ==> Zeerce: be Belphe again.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belphe finds he took an impromptu jaunt out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: Mind probing, reading (cobaltblood mind powers); reference to underage drinking/substance abuse, hangovers
> 
>  
> 
> ==> You are now Belphe once more.

It’s well into the night when you regain consciousness. You find yourself roused by a voice, and as you begin to wake up the voice becomes clearer through the fog.  
“Hey, you. Are you alright?” The voice gently lisps. You blink your eyes open, dazed, and see a rather sullen-looking bronzeblood staring down at you. Her expression seems vaguely concerned, her horns accentuating this affect, their silhouette clear and sharp against the night sky. You frown up at her, as it dawns on you that you shouldn't be seeing the night sky from your hive. For that matter, she shouldn't be in your hive. Where is this?  
“Hey. Glad to see you're conscious, but can you quit scowling at me long enough to speak?” She grumbles, still seeming more concerned than actually upset at you. You look around, taking in your surroundings. Goddammit. You must have somehow managed to wander out of your hive while blackout drunk. Just lovely.  
“Uhh, sorry,” you slur, returning your gaze up at her.  
“I was just somewhat confused. But, uh, as my moirail tells me, my confusion face is sooooort of a resting bitch face,” you sit up, giving her a sloppy smile. She studies you for a moment, looking rather perplexed.  
“Right,” she responds shortly, still studying you.  
“So… what the fuck are you even doing out here, sleeping on the side of the street like that? I know you highbloods own the place and all, but isn't that still a little unsafe?” She offers you a hand, and it takes you a moment to realize she's offering to help you up. You laugh off her question as you let her help pull you up. You're secretly grateful she offered, your head is beginning to hurt big time and you don't think you would have wanted to attempt standing yourself.  
“Haven't you ever wanted to just, I dunno, lay down and stare up at the stars?” You query, looking her in the eye once you're upright. She holds the gaze longer than you, still seemingly puzzled.  
“Not… that badly,” she responds. You shrug.  
“Different strokes for different folks,” you say indifferently.  
“So… you were just stargazing and nodded off,” she poses more as a statement than a question. She still seems rather unsure of what to make of you, but her body language is becoming more guarded. You pretend not to notice.  
“Uhh... Yeah, that sounds about right,” you lie, leaning back with a grin. The bronzeblood squints at you, eyeing you warily.  
“Now correct me if I'm wrong, but wouldn't someone of your stature be concerned if I said something about this? Might be bad for your reputation or something,” She inquires, her voice cracking a little. You cock an eyebrow at her.  
“And why would I worry about that when anyone that mattered probably wouldn't believe you…?” You retort with a chuckle, your visible eye narrowing at her. Her expression twitches, and you know she's come to some sort of conclusion.  
“I... suppose that's true. I was silly for bringing it up,” she admits, inching away from you. You blink in minor confusion, partially feigned, but also genuinely surprised that she seemed so threatened by you. You certainly aren't trying to come off that way - it always complicates matters down the line if other trolls see you as a threat.  
You normally don't use your powers for getting answers, but something about this lowblood's reactions makes you wonder what's going on in her head. You try to probe around a little, try to glean what exactly she's thinking about. Her response is nigh instantaneous.  
“Why the FUCK are you messing with my head!” She shrieks, shoving you backwards as if physical distance will help stop you. You frown a little, but try to maintain your facade.  
“Who's messing with what now?” You drawl, rubbing your arm where she shoved you. She snarls at you in response, teeth bared.  
“As if you don't know!! Keep away from me!” She hisses, bolting before you can respond. You sigh, relaxing your expression into something more neutral. Playing friendly didn't come easy to you, and it seemed it needed work, based on the feedback in that troll’s brain. A shame. You thought you'd mastered your persona to the level that it wouldn't cause such suspicion so quickly. Perhaps it was for the best. You didn't want company right now, and her questions had been grating on you.  
Brushing off your shirt, you take note of your surroundings and begin to walk home. Still. It was a good thing the only one who found you was a troll with an impossibly well-intentioned heart.


	4. ==> Belphe: Be Amygda.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bronzeblood Amygda Feliss bolts from a unnerving encounter with a highblood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: reference to mind probing/reading
> 
>  
> 
> ==> You are now Amygda.

You don't know how far you run. You don't think about it, simply letting your feet carry you until you're certain he's not following you - and that he isn't inside your head anymore. That cerulean blood was bad news, you could tell the moment you saw him. You hadn't been able to place why though, and that you had been determined to stick around and piece it together had almost been your assured undoing.   
Your first indicator, aside from the obvious “why would a cerulean blood be lying unconscious next to the street like that” conundrum, was his smell. You couldn't place it but he smelled bad. Not as in gross (though that too), but… there was some sort of lingering stench that did not feel right to you. It smelled fake and sweet. Too sweet. Just like his behavior. It was like a lure, meant to pull you in.   
And his body language… his expressions seemed relaxed, but you felt tension and agitation radiating from him when you helped him up.   
It was the eyes that did it for you though. When he made that offhand comment about no one important caring… you saw something dark in them. Something unpleasant. Something violent. You must have pissed him off with that remark. But, silly you, had to run your mouth and press buttons. Like you always did with almost every troll you encountered. It's a wonder you had any friends.   
When you finally come to a stop, heaving for breath, you find yourself outside your moirail’s hive. You must have run past your own. Admittedly though, you would like some company right now. You couldn't sense that troll anymore, but you didn't like the idea of being in your hive alone either way right now.   
Well, your caretaker would be there. But while she has good intuition, she's not one for fighting. If the chips were down she'd be in danger more than anything. At the very least, your moirail is rather tough, in his own offbeat way, and his caretaker is strong. They'll provide the reassurance you need to sleep comfortably once day breaks. You just hope that's all you'll need. 

Hands shaking, from exertion and adrenaline, you knock at the door, and take a step back. Predictably, a series of noises - crashing, clattering, things falling, things colliding, and underneath it all occasional yelps of shock and surprise - cascades from the other side of the door, getting progressively closer until the troll on the other side flings the door open.   
As two eyes, one psionic and one not, meet yours, his expression brightens immediately.   
“Amygda!!! Hi!!! What brings you here? Surprise visit?” He chirps, flinging his arms around you and pinning your own to your sides. You grin despite yourself, noting how disheveled and tangled in household objects he was.   
“Yeah, sort of. What did you do to yourself this time, Quokka? Perform an obstacle course blindfolded?” You inquire, squirming an arm out to lift a saucepan off the tip of one of his horns.   
“Nope! Just with my eyes shut!” He beams. You roll your eyes at his deadpan reply, unable to avoid smirking, and wriggle out of his hold on you so you can untangle him some more.   
“Ok mr. Daredevil. How's about we get some of this junk off you before we do anything else?” You wrinkle your nose at some of the stuff on him - pots and pans, a lampshade, electrical cord…? And is that a fork tangled in his hair? Grabbing at the loose end of electrical cord, you gesture with it while looking the smaller goldblood in the eyes.   
“Quokka,” you start, pausing for emphasis.   
“What. the fuck.” You waggle the cord at him with every word.   
Quokka laughs gleefully in response, dutifully holding still as you work to unwrap him. As you finish with the cord and move on to the lampshade (oh god he didn't. He did. He got his rollerbladed foot stuck right through it. How in the hell are you going to get this off), Quokka watches you a little more impatiently.   
“Hey Amygda?” He says, watching you fiddle.   
“What's up, squirt,” you respond absent-mindedly, trying to loosen the lampshade from around his knee joint.   
“Is everything okay?”   
You pause, thoughtful. A sigh.   
“If I'm being honest… not really,” you admit, giving up on the lampshade and standing up once more.   
“Can I talk to you about it inside?” You ask self-consciously, rubbing the back of your neck as you take a nervous glance around you.   
“OH geez yeah of course! Come in! Just watch out for the mess,” Quokka steps back into the hive, leading you up the zigzag incline to his respiteblock. Or he would be, if he waited for you to navigate the clutter left everywhere from his many projects and self-made obstacle courses. But true to his nature, he sprints ahead - an impressive feat when there's a lampshade attached to one’s leg, to be sure- leaving you to wade through the piles of trinkets and objects and trash.   
You're honestly not sure you would mind the mess anymore, except it's constantly changing. A navigable path through the hive one day turns into an impenetrable wall the next. You wonder how his caretaker can live like this. You wonder a lot of things about the life of Quokka.   
Once you finally manage to weave your way up to his respiteblock, you can tell he did his best to clean up for you - the floor was fairly clear, the loungeplank as well, aside from a clearly excited Quokka sitting atop it, rocking back and forth on top of the rather abused cushions. Upon your entry into the room, Quokka’s eyes brighten and he eagerly pats on the cushion, inviting you to sit.   
You take the seat, a smirk playing on your lips even despite your earlier encounter still fresh in your mind. Automatically, you resume the process of detangling your moirail, barely sparing him a glance when he speaks.   
“So what’s up?” He inquires, waiting patiently as you finally dislodge the lampshade from his leg. No more bethesda imitations for this young troll. Until the next time he gets something stuck glitching through him, that is.   
“I… had an encounter with a highblood,” you begin to explain, halting as your attention is diverted by the silverware tangled in Quokka’s hair. Quokka gasps in response, though you suspect it's more for effect rather than any indication he understands the implications in your phrasing.   
“Whoa, really?? Who was it, what caste were they?” He inquires, a little too excited about the concept for your taste. You shake your head dismissively, still focused on untangling the fork.   
“I didn't recognize him, he was a cobaltblood,” you explain distractedly. There. The fork is freed, and ready for a wash.   
“He sort of stood out, though. Appearance wise I mean,” you add, patting your moirail’s clothing gently to help remove dust.   
“Did he dress all fancy?” Quokka’s voice is just so full of awe, you almost regret having to ruin it for him.   
“No… the opposite, really. Like a hiveless rustblood who somehow has eked it out in the wilderness of the city all this time,” you sigh, noticing the state of Quokka’s braids.   
“Quokka, how did you manage to knot your own braids this badly??” Your voice tinged with near exasperation as he shrugs in response, a look of disappointment on his face at the concept of a highblood who looked so shabby.   
“So what happened?” Quokka tilts his head to look back at you as you begin to work on untangling one of his long braids.   
“Don't move dammit--” you pap his cheek somewhat aggressively, indicating he needs to look forward again so you can work on his hair. He does so and you return to your busywork.   
“Anyways… I found him sleeping outside next to one of the main streets for some reason? I thought he was maybe in trouble, like post-mugging or something, he looked like a fucking WRECK… there we go, one braid done,” you add, tossing it lightly over Quokka’s shoulder. He immediately places a hand on it, and starts fidgeting with it.   
“But I dunno, I should have just stayed out of it and minded my own business,” you admit. Quokka hums in agreement.   
“Yeah, kinda,” he admits.  
“ you're always doing things that could get you into trouble, Amygda. After all, no lowblood would even think to help someone in that sort of situation. Most would just mug him again or something.”   
“Yeah, well, what's done is done,” you grumble, knowing Quokka had a point.   
“But either way, I guess he wasn't in any trouble? He claimed he was just laying there to stare up at the sky or something. But… I dunno, something seemed really off about him. Made me nervous. He could tell too, I think, the fucker began probing my brain with those dumb mind powers cobalts sometimes have. I was lucky to get out of there before he made me do anything.” You sigh, finishing the other braid and smoothing it out as you pass it back to your moirail.   
“Oh geez… that's kinda scary, Amygda,” Quokka says, turning back around to face you.   
“Hey, I know what'll help!!” He realizes, face lighting up again. Eagerly, he pats his lap. You flush a little, running a hand through your hair.   
“I mean… that does sound nice…” you admit hesitantly. Quokka merely waggles his eyebrows in response, and you comply, situating yourself so you can lay your head on his lap. Once you're comfortable, Quokka begins stroking your hair, humming a tune as he does. The notes vibrate and click in his thorax, and as he caresses your head you feel all of your tension begin to melt away. Before you know it, you're drifting off to sleep, all worries forgotten.


	5. ==> Amygda: Dream.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amygda dreams of a strange golden city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: implied violence, death, mind control (all secondhand, vague descriptors)

Everything around you shines with a golden hue, even with your eyes closed. Opening them, your surroundings come into a blurry focus. The familiarity of your respiteblock greets your eyes. Everything feels a little disjointed, though- like you're not entirely awake. You get up and move fluidly through your room, almost independently of your own intentions- sleepwalking in a dream.  
You approach a window, pausing to take in the outside scenery. Golden spires, yellow bricked roads, individuals garbed in bright colors and donning ivory carapaces… You recognize all of this. You've dreamed here before. You've woken up in this place many times by now, and while you aren't sure what it's meant to be you do know what it's called.  
Prospit.  
You turn your attention upwards, and see a vivid blue sky seemingly edging closer. You squint, trying not to be distracted by the drifting clouds as you try to recall what this phenomenon was. Someone had told you once…  
An eclipse. The phrase pops into your head, begging for a clarifier you once knew. But you can't recall more than that. Just that this sky, seeming as though it were growing bigger, trying to engulf the city, was being eclipsed. But why? What was eclipsing it?  
You frown in thought, staring up at the cartoonishly fluffy clouds, trying to remember what you were doing before all this, who told you what an eclipse was, what Prospit was… all scattered thoughts that cease as one particular cloud captures your attention.  
It doesn't look like a regular cloud. Instead, it has some sort of image showing on its side, transmitting the image like an unseen projector were trained on it. The image moves and at first you have to squint to make out the shapes, but as you study it it becomes clearer to you.  
The moving silhouettes of two adult trolls come into focus for you from the dark picture - one of them with bronze eyes glinting in the dim light of their setting, her horns shaped much like the ones curving with the shape of your head. The other troll’s fangs flash into a smirk, a singular cerulean eye narrowing slyly. You frown at the visual, trying to understand who the trolls are supposed to be. You can't shake the familiarity of the cobaltblood’s horns, the shape of the bronzeblood’s face, but despite looking familiar it just didn't click.  
You're distracted from your train of thought as movement in the cloud’s image catches your attention. The Bronzeblood had pulled away abruptly from the Cobaltblood, clutching something close to her thorax. The Cobaltblood calmly reaches a hand out, and his eyes flicker as the bronzeblood’s body goes stiff, before she listlessly relinquishes the coveted object. A scroll, wrapped with a deep pink ribbon, is dropped into the highblood’s waiting hand, and you can almost make out a symbol on the ribbon as the gloved hand closes around it. The Cobaltblood then draws a knife, and you tense, wanting to stop him somehow as he readies to attack the still-frozen Bronzeblood. But you're helpless, a disconnected viewer seeing a moment in time from somewhere - and possibly somewhen - else.  
Your tension doesn't last long, though, as the view the cloud provides you closes in instead on the scroll, still in the highblood’s hand. Only now you can see the symbol clearly. It's abstracted, but it clearly forms the shape of a heart in light pink, cut cleanly in half. You stare at it, transfixed by it. What did it mean? What did any of this vision mean?  
A voice from behind startles you from your train of thought, and you jump.  
“What do you see?”  
Your eyes dart distractedly, trying to place the voice without tearing your eyes away from the vision. But this becomes a pointless worry - the images on the cloud suddenly fade, leaving only a white, fluffy visage.  
Confused and feeling out of place, you turn to see who spoke to you, and ---

Your eyes snap open, and you jolt upward, disoriented. What happened? Where are you?  
As you take a moment, you recognize your moirail’s Respiteblock, and you sigh in relief. That's right. Quokka’s hive. You stopped by and he began chilling with you. You must have fallen asleep. You glance at Quokka, sitting somewhat behind you now. He appears to have dozed off, having you in his lap so long. You smirk a little at how his head has lolled back against the back of the loungeplank, how relaxed his expression has become. You take to absentmindedly brushing some stray locks of hair out of his face, stopping only when he stirs. He does not wake, but the movement brings you back to the present.  
You sigh, noting at how much better you feel overall, now that you've grounded yourself some. But a sense of concern lingers. You feel as though you've forgotten something. But what?  
Brow furrowing, you focus on the dream already fleeing from your memory. But you can barely recall anything of significance. Just the feeling that you were in that golden place again, a sense of distress, and… and some sort of symbol. Pink on pink… a heart, maybe? But the details of the shape elude you, already vanished into the fog. Though… you do feel like someone else was there, too. Someone you knew. But who was it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> partner mini-piece to this chapter > https://archiveofourown.org/works/14383146  
> contains more detailed description of violence and death, so be careful. It adds to the story and lore, but is not necessary to understand future events either so consider this a bonus tidbit.


	6. ==>Amygda: Be that Someone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Purpleblood Cilone Hednis prepares for a night of gossip - with a very specific purpose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: some minor references to offscreen gore/violence.
> 
> ==> You are now Cilone.

You awaken from your mid-night nap, blinking your eyes open slowly. Sitting up from your resting spot, a pile of assorted soft cushions, you stretch luxuriously, and take a moment to habitually straighten your bangs out.  
You had been surprised to see Amygda also awake on Prospit this time of night. It wasn't typical of trolls to have time for naps. But you appreciate that she was there then. It had been nice to see a familiar face, and with your respective class disparities you felt you didn't cross paths with her often enough anymore.  
You frown to yourself thoughtfully, considering your last moments with her before she awoke in real time. You do wish she had been able to tell you what she saw in the clouds. You would have liked to hear what they showed her. Whatever it was, you couldn't see it. The clouds never show you anything.  
You aren't certain why it’s that way. Based on what you’ve heard from neighbors on that gilded moon, however, it isn't something you really care for- you aren't much one to believe in prophecies or knowledge of the future.  
Even so, everyone else makes it look so interesting, whenever you see them gazing skywards. It sometimes makes you a bit envious.  
You sigh, gently rubbing the sleep from an eye, taking care not to smudge your makeup any more than it almost assuredly is. You didn't mean to sleep as long as you had. But something is on your mind, and you had hoped that there was something- or someone- on Prospit that could help. Alas, you'd had no such luck, and you highly doubt that whatever Amygda was seeing would have helped anyways.  
Standing up from your nest, brushing your skirts off daintily, you step out from the pile of soft clothing and fabric and make your way to your wardrobifier. You have a lot you want to get done tonight, and you refuse to look like a bedraggled mess while doing so. Time to change things up.  
You select a skirt and a blouse from the wardrobifier, changing out of your wrinkled ones. You start buttoning up your blouse when a glance in the mirror reminds you of your makeup, all smeared and smudged to the point of illegibility on one side of your face. You frown. That's going to need a redo for sure, and you'd rather not risk the mess on your shirt.  
You remove the blouse as a precaution, and seat yourself in front of your vanity mirror, gently wiping off all of your makeup. As you reapply it, you take care not to get powder and paint everywhere - it would be a pain to try to scrub it out of your bra.  
You apply the base white layer before adding the darker spots, painting your lips, your cheeks, and eyelids a dark grey, carefully avoiding your fangs and loose hair in the process. Pausing as you finish some touch-ups to the darker shapes, you study your work. It's lacking.  
In your peripheral vision, your hair ribbons, as purple as your blood, dangle from messy buns. Purple, of course, how could you forget? It isn't proper highblood makeup unless you accompany it with some Highblood pride. You pull out your mascara and apply it to your eyelashes, going steadily until your golden eyes are framed harmoniously by purple.  
Once you're certain the colors are evenly coated, you bat your eyes at your reflection, and smile. Yes, perfect. Just the right balance of caste pride and fashionable taste.  
Satisfied, you pull on your blouse and button it up, tweaking the collar as you do. You then redo your twin buns, twisting your hair in neat circles around your horns. Once you're certain everything else is in place, you change out of your rumpled skirts and into a new skirt and tights, and slip on the final piece, a corset cinched around your waist. As you smooth the fabric of your blouse and skirt underneath accordingly by straightening out the frills and wrinkles, you admire yourself in the mirror. Perfect. Not a thread out of place.  
Satisfied with your selection, you slip on your mary janes and trot out of your respiteblock, down your hive’s zigzag incline. Once you reach the bottom, you greet your waiting lusus with a cheerful smooch. She nuzzles you gently, a gesture you half-duck if only because you had just gotten finished with making sure you looked nice. But you appreciate the sentiment, and pet her muzzle reassuringly.  
Greetings exchanged, you move to your entryblock, removing your parasol from its storage rack. You've always had a fascination with collecting umbrellas, but this one would always be your favorite. Extremely functional for combating the harsh conditions of the daytime, but light enough to carry at night as you wished, and it was even rather fashionable as umbrellas go, sporting a lacey edge that matched just about everything in your wardrobe. It was the perfect accessory.  
Feeling sufficiently accessorized, you tuck your parasol under your arm and proceed to the door. You wave goodbye to your custodian as you walk out, and she mooes at you as she waves a flipper in farewell. You smile to yourself as the door closes behind you. She's such a sweet lusus. 

You stroll down the streets of your neighborhood, passing by hives and the trolls who reside in them without a second glance. Some nights, you opt to linger a little, shoot the breeze, as you like to call it, with some of your fellow highblood brothers and sisters - it's generally your only good way to get the local news and hearsay. You don't attend church with any of your brethren.  
But tonight, only one of your brothers has information you're interested in. One you rarely see during your gossip runs. One who you believe is involved with the matter on your mind. And so his is the only hive you'll stop by. 

It's a little past midnight by the time you reach his hive. You knock on the door, clutching your parasol in one hand. You take a moment to straighten out your skirt. You aren't actually sure how much looks factor in when it comes to this particular brother. But when dealing with other highbloods it always helps to look your best.  
As the door opens, you have to refrain from grimacing. Dayekh Calgii, spattered in blood, stares at you from the inside of the hive. You guess that your own appearances weren't such a cause for concern after all.  
From behind him you can see what appears to be a mess of innards and the like. You must have interrupted him from something. Probably more chores for that one seadweller, you muse with some distaste.  
He gives you a casual once-over, seeming unimpressed with your attire.  
“Well hello there, sister,” he says, pausing as a yawn cuts him off.  
“What brings you to my humble hive this fine evening?” He gives you a fairly apathetic look through bloodstained makeup, scratching a shoulder through the fabric of his rather worn t-shirt. A part of you deeply regrets having wasted any effort on your own appearance for this.  
“Why, hello, Dayekh,” you greet in the sweetest voice you can muster.  
“I just heard the most dreadful news, I was wondering if you were aware?”  
Dayekh quirks an eyebrow at you, interest almost piqued.  
“Oh?” He responds simply, letting the door hang open as he leans a shoulder against the doorway. You nod emphatically, drawing your parasol closer to your thorax.  
“I would think so. I heard that there was a robbery earlier this evening, at our local Empirical factory,” you start to explain, trying to gauge his reaction carefully. The other eyebrow goes up, and the expression shifts a bit. You've got his attention.  
“A robbery from the Empire, hm? Can't say I'd heard of it, but that does sound rather dire,” he admits with a shrug. It's your turn to raise your own eyebrows, in mock surprise.  
“You haven't heard? It's been all over the tube channels today, never mind the impact it's made online,” you emphasize dramatically, placing your claws to your face. Dayekh averts his eyes distractedly… in thought? Or is it something more?  
“Well, as I'm sure you noticed, sis, I've been uh… rather preoccupied, tonight,” he tilts his head to indicate the mess behind him.  
“Ah… yes, I suppose that's true…” Your cartilage nub involuntarily wrinkles despite yourself as you’re reminded of the carnage.  
“Even so, I would love to help bring you up to speed on the matter. I'm quite sure you'll find the details quite interesting,” you recover quickly, leaning slightly closer to him.  
“Besides, don't you think it's a good idea to stay in the loop on such matters?” You press with a knowing grin. He eyes you somewhat suspiciously, sizing you up almost as if he were trying to determine if you were cullable. You aren't concerned, if that's the case. He’s hardly a threat to you.  
“Well, I don't see why not, so long’s you’re willing to wait while I clean up a titch,” Dayekh finally relents with a shrug, straightening up.  
“Oh, not at all!” You say too quickly. You hadn't been looking forward to the concept of going in while it was…. Like that. Thank goodness your outfit could be spared. Dayekh smirks a little, moving to close the door.  
“Then I'll be just a moment, sister.”  
And with that, the door shuts, leaving you to your thoughts for the time being.  
You’re thankful you'd convinced him to hear you out. You were fairly certain he could give you some insight on what went down with the factory, so long as he listened long enough. Of all the purplebloods you knew, few were as well-informed as Dayekh was.  
That said, there was good reason for that. purplebloods aren't exactly known for their discretion or tight grubchutes. Dayekh doesn't strike you as an exception. Say the right things, and he'd probably give away more than he'd realize.  
Your real concern is whether or not he'd begin wondering what your interest in all this was. You couldn't afford to let on. The safety - and most likely lives - of some dear friends of yours were at stake. You couldn't let him even guess. Especially not when Dayekh, of all trolls, works under a rather influential and cruel seadweller. Together and individually, they have a history of making trolls disappear. The last thing you need is for them to set their sights on your friends.  
That said… It stands to reason that Dayekh also has to have some crucial information at his clawtips, with an alliance like that. If there's any significant information about what really happened at the Factory, then he'll surely have something. Your ultimate goal is to tease that information out of him.  
And even if he doesn't have any information… You have a feeling he could be useful in other ways.


	7. ==>Cilone: Enter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cilone gets her hard-earned gossip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Faygo imbibement by a secondary character.

You hear the door handle click as someone on the other side grabs it, and you hasten to check your appearance as Dayekh opens the door once more. He already looks much cleaner, even with some dried bits of blood still staining his hair in places. From what you can see behind him, it also appears that the block has undergone a massive improvement in bloodlessness.  
“Come right on in, sister,” He steps aside and gestures with a flourish. You smile cordially at him, curtsying, as you step inside.  
He leads you into what you assume is his main block, offering you a splaysac to sit in. You decline it politely with a wave.  
“If you don't mind, I'd be far more comfortable sitting on your loungeplank,” you admit, indicating the furniture in question on the other side of his coffee plateau. You didn't want to get too comfortable... or relaxed. He shrugs with a grin.  
“Suit yourself, sis.”  
You seat yourself daintily, as Dayekh shifts his weight in anticipation.  
“Can I interest you in a Faygo for whilst we trade the word, sister?” He inquires, already making a move towards his foodblock. You're beginning to wonder if he even remembers your name at this rate. Sister this and Sis that… Not that this is the first time you've run into this from others of your caste.  
“Oh, thank you, but I'll pass. I wouldn't want to overstay my welcome,” you smile at him. He pauses, giving you a look you can't quite decipher, but he says nothing and retreats into the foodblock, returning with only a solitary bottle.  
As he cracks open the Faygo, Dayekh flops down into the splaysac across from you, taking a quick swig before focusing his attention on you.  
“So you said it's a, uhh… a robbery that's taken place?” Dayekh asks, wiping away a dribble of soda from his chin. You nod, trying not to think about whether a soda dribble is better or worse than smudged makeup like what he now touted.  
“Yes, from one of The Empire’s own factories. The one here in town, as a matter of fact,” you add. He raises an eyebrow.  
“Whoever did that must have some motherfuckin’ guts. I could have sworn that place was swarmin’ with Drones,” he states, leaning back more in his chairbag.  
“It is. That's part of why it's caused such a fuss.”  
Dayekh scoffs, seemingly unimpressed.  
“I bet it's just some lowblood thinkin’ they were hot shit. They probably regret that now that the Drones are on the alert… That's assuming they haven't already been caught, of course,” he chuckles, taking another swig.  
“ Actually, word has it that there's reason to believe a highblood was behind this,” you reply glibly. Dayekh makes a strange noise, something like a cross of a sputter and croak, and you glance up idly at him. He coughs a few times, setting the faygo down on the floor next to him. You wait patiently for him to finish, taking the time to really study your surroundings- walls spattered in old blood of varying colors, shelves toppled and never re-righted, signs of violence here and there in cracked plaster and banged-up furniture. You had hoped for some insight on Dayekh from your setting, but all it shows is he is exactly the sort of purpleblood you expected - sloppy, and prone to violence.  
You return your attention to him as he seems to finally get his wits about him. He clears his throat, still looking a bit shaken up - but you're not so sure it's from the choking.  
“A highblood, you say?” He asks, his voice still a bit hoarse. You nod.  
“Of course. Why else would there be such a fuss over it?” You shrug, twirling a long strand of hair around one of your claws idly.  
“A troll breaking and entering into The Empirical Factory, stealing from it, AND I've heard they escaped capture from the drones so far - If it's a highblood, this is a rather serious offense, really. Far more grave than just some no-name lowblood acting out, honestly. After all, this is The Empire they've chosen to cross! the selfsame system that lets them live as well as they do, and this is how they repay it!” You stress, letting yourself become more animated, letting your volume build.  
“You know as well as I that such indignity from one of our own won't be ignored! Never mention the sheer gall they have, to cross our beloved Sovereign in such a way! To show him such disrespect after he's allowed us so much freedom and power! Why, for the sake of this conversation I'd dare say we could even consider it… a sign of treason,” you lean forward in your seat as you continue, your tones becoming more conspiratorial. You have been keeping your attention on Dayekh as you speak, gauging his demeanor - you see definite signs that you're onto something. Something he doesn't want found out. His eyes dart around as he listens, seeming in serious thought- and panic- over the news you bring.  
“I see… Treason, huh…” he mumbles absent-mindedly. You can almost hear the gears turning. You smile knowingly.  
“Yes, my brother. Treason.”  
Dayekh takes a shaky sip of his Faygo, though he seems far less interested in it now. You're both well familiar with the punishment that comes with treason. It's quite unpleasant. You imagine that any troll facing such punishment would look juuuust about as nervous as Dayekh does now.  
“So is there, is there any news that, uh… might suggest if’n they suspect a specific caste, sister?”  
You fake a thoughtful, but curious look. His eyes dart away from your gaze, but he recovers quickly.  
“I can't help but wonder, if it were a highblood, that mayhaps one of our own in the church is involved. Would reflect poorly on The Messiahs if an acolyte defied the empire in such a way,” he frowns as seriously as he can seem to manage under such panic. Your grin widens, and you can't help but answer with a tone of delight in your voice.  
“Hmmmm… It would, wouldn't it?”  
You level your gaze on him knowingly.  
“It's quite fortunate that that's certainly not going to be an issue for either of us when the time comes, then, isn't it? Our loyalty to the Empire-- no, Our Mirthful Messiahs -- is quite sound. We won't ever be looked upon by others as if our faith, our loyalty, is lacking in any way!” You snicker, leaning back in your seat, hands resting on your parasol handle. Dayekh's discomfort is almost tangible at this point. You've got him.  
“But, to answer your question … no. They don't have any ideas of what caste just yet. There's minimal signs of violence -which is unusual, though not impossible. But it's harder to tell which caste with so little evidence.”  
Dayekh chews on his lip absent-mindedly at this information, rolling the faygo bottle back and forth in his pudgy hands. You can almost hear him straining his thinkpan on what this might mean for him. You decide to throw him a bone.  
“That said… this could always point to one capable of influencing their surroundings to their will.”  
Dayekh lifts his gaze up to you, seemingly revitalized by this information.  
“So then it could just be one o’ them nasty ceruleanbloods, what with their mind control powers?” He ventures hopefully, leaning forward in his splaysac and setting the bottle down. You smile amiably at him.  
“Could be. They certainly are notorious for being manipulative thieves,” you sneer. “On the other hand- it could indeed be a sign of one of our own feeling mighty treacherous. There are those of us who have the powerful chucklevoodoos at there command, you know.”  
His face falls as fast as it had recovered.  
“In fact…” you add, with a thoughtful look his way.  
“It could even be someone using another troll from the shadows, to steal from the factory. Get their prize while keeping their hands clean, and a scapegoat handy.”  
Dayekh’s hands, now resting on his knees, tense. You've seen enough. You stand from the loungeplank, tugging out your crumpled skirt as you leave Dayekh to the rather rusty wheels turning in his dull, dull thinkpan.  
“Of course, this is nothing but speculation. Still, I do thank you for letting me into your hive like this, Dayekh. It's always so lovely to ‘trade words’ with a neighbor.”  
You smile, bringing your parasol close to your thorax as you smile down at your neighbor. Dayekh looks up slowly from his splaysac, expression blank.  
“I must go though - I have other duties to attend to, I'm afraid,” you say rather blithely, turning to see yourself out. Dayekh opens his mouth slowly, staring into the distance as you leave.  
“Sure thing, sister… always good to hear the latest from one of our own,” he replies, slowly, absently. As he stands from his spot to make sure you leave, though, a thought seems to occur to him.  
“Though, I hope you won't mind me askin’, but uhh…” he studies you, as you turn to face him.  
“I don't think I've seen you in Church lately. You aren't… ignoring the call of The Messiahs, now… are you?” He glares at you. It seems he wants to be the one to test wits now. Unfortunately for him, he is far less skilled, and you like to think of yourself as one tough customer. You smile gracefully at him.  
“Wouldn't dream of it, my brother,” you reply, opening the door and stepping out of his hive.  
“But there's more than one way to skin a troll, you know. I simply believe in a far more... personal approach to my worship.”  
With a flourish, you open your parasol and walk away, leaving him standing dumbly on his doorstep.

As you return to your hive once more, storing your parasol back with the others, you reflect on how informative your visit with Dayekh was.  
“Reason to believe it was a highblood”? “Minimal signs of violence”?? Please. You scoff to yourself just thinking about it. As if such details would have been released on the news. Dayekh had said he hadn't been paying attention to the feed tonight- boy, he wasn't kidding!  
You'd made most of what you'd “heard” on the spot - had he seen any of the reports, Dayekh would have caught on to you pretty quickly. You were a smooth talker, but even you could only do so much with the facts on hand. But Dayekh clearly hadn't heard anything before your visit - and during the conversation he all but confirmed most of your suspicions.  
You trot up the zigzag incline to your respiteblock, still replaying everything in your head as you close the door behind you. You slip off your mary-janes, feeling relief at not having to be too dressed up anymore. You love getting dressed up, no mistake about that - but sometimes it felt like you couldn't just dress up for you. It always had to be for others.  
Unbuttoning your corset, you flop down into your nearby cushion pile, and sigh as you think about earlier conversation.  
It really had been telling how much Dayekh had seemed to believe your ruse. You'd had so little to actually work with. The only thing anyone actually knew about the robbery so far was that it happened in the middle of the day at The Empirical Factory. Trolls weren't much for law enforcement via investigation of the scene of the crime, and The Drones weren't exactly sleuths of any sort.  
Of course it was on the newsfeed - but all they ever did was speculation and sensationalism. Or propoganda. But there wasn't ever anything truly informative coming from their Rendporters.  
But you were fortunate enough to be privy to a less-noticed fact - the robbery wasn't the first crime of its kind in recent history. There had been a slew of them lately, even by Facsimlaen standards. Most of them, however, were hushed up and kept on the downlow. Which just spoke of highblood influence to you. The question was how high up, and for what purpose.  
You doubted that it was a Fuchsiablood. Even if they weren't always sanctioned heirs, no one would refuse them in a way that they'd resort to forceful acquisition. Not of this level. So you've been investigating a little lower on the totem pole. Hence your little visit to Dayekh.  
You didn't like prying into things like this. It was stressful and drew attention if done too much. You'd worked hard to cultivate the rather unnotable image you had among your peers. If this kept up, you wouldn't be able to maintain it. But you had your reasons for following this particular thread for a while, ones that motivated even you to step out from under the radar.  
Speaking of which…  
You deploy your husktop from your fetch modus, taking care not to drop it. As you wait for your husktop to power on, you take a moment to undo your carefully-wound hair buns, letting the long hair cascade down in loose, if somewhat messy waves. Once it's ready, you open up Trollian. It's time to check in on one of your “reasons” and see how she's doing. 

-bereftBurlesque (BB) began trolling imurredIre (II)-  
BB: y-u’ll be happy t- kn-w I've already determined the actual culprit behind the r-bberies.  
BB: -r at least, I assume it c-mes as a relief f-r y-u.  
II: |Cilone.|  
II: |If I'm honest, I don't care about that as much as what their plan was.|  
BB: I can't speak t- that just yet.  
BB: But I can say with s-me certainty n-w that whatever it is, pr-bably has n-thing t- d- with us.  
BB: That unsav-ry seadweller Zeerce appears t- be pulling the strings, as usual. She's never been -ne t- have grand machinati-ns, n- matter h-w vile she can be.  
BB: She d-esn’t seem t- have a g--d inf-rmati-n chute, based -n recent events.  
BB: and while her little flunky Dayekh pr-bably has his ganderbulb -n me n-w…  
BN: It's -nly because I was suspici-us -f him first,I believe.  
II: |So do you think it was just a fluke then?|  
II: |Them rummaging around the caves|  
II: |It wasn't them snooping around for trolls like me?|  
BB: -h I highly d-ubt that, dear.  
BB: they're vici-us and certainly n-t against the idea -f killing tr-lls wh- cr-ss them, but… Everything they've d-ne s- far seems t- p-int t- them needing res-urces. F-r what, I d-n’t kn-w.  
BB: If I'm being h-nest th-ugh I d-n’t think it's a maj-r threat. I think y-u’ll be safe.  
II: |That’s good enough for me.You've been around these creeps a lot more than I have. I trust your judgement.|  
BB: I'm glad I can bring a sense -f reassurance t- y-u.  
BB: That being said, I think I'm g-ing t- lay l-w f-r n-w. I believe I attracted a little t-- much attenti-n this time ar-und.  
II: |you don't have to explain yourself to me. I'm fine with that.|  
II: |Do you think you'll be joining us anytime soon?|  
BB: -h, Lailla  
BB: As much as I l-ve visiting y-u, I can't say I'm thrilled at the idea, given the circumstances.  
BB: But if I am, y-u’ll be the first t- kn-w.  
II: |I read you loud and clear.|  
II: |just watch out for yourself, ok? We both know I can't do anything while stuck in this labyrinth.|  
II: |I won't be able to help you if you need it.|  
BB: That's s- sweet -f y-u. <>  
BB: But d-n’t w-rry.  
BB: I can take care -f myself just fine.  
II: |Ok.|  
BB: And, Lailla…  
BB: Y-u d- kn-w I w-n’t leave y-u t- r-t in th-se caverns f-rever, right?  
BB: Just leave it t- me. I'll w-rk s-mething -ut.  
II: |I know.|  
II: |I believe in you, Cilone.|  
II: |You’re always in my corner. And even if it was your idea to stick me here in the first place|  
II: | Well, let's be honest, it's kept me alive so far, right?|  
II: |I trust you.|  
BB: <>  
II: |<>|  
BB: ufufu!  
BB: Well, I’d better g-. I want t- keep an eye -ut f-r things just a little l-nger, in case s-mething else c-mes up.  
II: |Reading you loud and clear.|  
II: |Just hit me up whenever- it's not like I'll be busy later or anything.|  
BB: I kn-w.  
BB: Take care, Lailla.  
-bereftBurlesque (BB) ceased trolling imurredIre (II)-


	8. ==>Cilone: Be Lailla

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Midblood Lailla Kausmi laments her plight of boredom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 10 years of Homestuck, everyone! I thought posting this today would be fitting. After all, you could dare to say Lailla is somewhat... Hivebound, maybe? (No don't. Don't dare.)  
> Chapter Warnings: No warnings apply.
> 
> = = > You are now Lailla.

You close out of the pesterlog between you and your moirail with a sigh. You never did hold any grievances with Cilone for her arranging you live here… “here” being deep within the hidden networks of the Brooding Caverns. You had been the one to ask her for help finding a hiding place to begin with, really. And it worked like a charm. Even with nosy lusii and drones roaming around, you were able to live here uneventfully for a full sweep. Here, you're as safe as you could possibly be on this hell planet.  
You somewhat rapidly click through your other pesterlogs and application windows for signs of something, anything of interest happening. No luck. You roll your eyes and close your secondhand husktop with a huff.  
You don't hold any grievances, but that doesn't make the situation any easier to bear, sometimes! You've explored your expanse of the tunnels to death, exhausted all your books and game grubs, caught up on the latest media in no time at all...You feel a little stircrazy right now, and nothing is happening at the moment to help shake it off.  
You run through a mental list of trolls you could pester, hoping there's a chance for some socializing and excitement… but to no avail. Everyone you can think of is currently occupied to your knowledge, or has probably already had their fill of conversing with you in this past hour. Even if they weren't, you're struggling to think of a good conversation starter. “These caverns are boring” probably won't generate a lot of talk when it's been established, repeatedly, to everyone you know, that these caverns are, indeed, boring.  
Maybe you'll just watch the newsfeed. You hate it, but at least there's something new there somewhere. Even if it is boring.  
If only you could be somewhere, anywhere else right now! Anywhere would be better than here. 


	9. ==>Lailla: Be somewhere else

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ==> You stop being Lailla so you can be someone else, somewhere else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: hangovers; references to drinking, faygo; Zeerce.
> 
>  
> 
> ==> Be Belphe  
> You are once more Belphe. Again??

By the time you return to your hive, you feel, honestly, like utter shit. Your mind is foggy, everything seems off-kilter, you’re feeling vaguely nauseous and to top it all off, you're battling one of your more excruciating headaches. As you struggle to retreat to the safety of your hive, your limbs aching in protest as you pull at your door, you're vaguely aware of a scuttlebuggy parked just outside. It fails to fully register as something of concern for you, though. You don't care just as long as you can get inside and return to your recuperacoon. Somewhere in the fog and pain, you've pieced together the realization that you might have been exposed to the sun while you were aimlessly sleep-wandering - here and there your skin burns and aches like it's been stripped raw. Prickling and stabbing while your head aches and throbs. The soothing slime of the ‘coon could only help right about now, with what poor shape you're in.  
As you step through the doorway and close the door, a sense of relief floods through you. Finally, some quiet. You take a moment to close your eyes and savor it as you lean back against the door. This moment is, regrettably, horribly short-lived, as a shrill voice cuts through the silence.  
“Well look who finally graces me with his presence!!! Where have you been hiding all this time?”  
Your eyes shoot open and it takes every fiber of your being not to jump. Gaze darting to the source of the voice, who else should you see but Zeerce, sitting on your loungeplank a little ways away from the door.  
“Zeerce, what the fuck are you doing here…” you sigh, trying hard to keep the irritation out of your voice with little success.  
“Why, I was worried for my moirail, so I decided to drop in and pay him a visit, of course!” She responds with a tone of mock offense, a perfectly manicured hand to her bejeweled collarbone for emphasis. God you forget how talking to her gets on your nerves sometimes.  
“I meant, how did you get in?” You grumble, running a hand over your face. You really aren't up for this.  
“Oh that. Your custodian let me in. He's always been rather fond of me, remember?” she explains coolly, taking a sip from a can of grub juice that you hadn't noticed in her other hand until now. A wave of panic pulses through you as you realize this means she likely raided your fridge for it. The same fridge that housed several of your unopened Faygo bottles.  
“Right. And the soda?” You ask, trying to keep your voice as even as you can.  
“Cus-toooo-diannnn,” Zeerce sing-songs back at you, shaking the can in time with her pitch at you. Her bracelets jingle from the motion, which only adds to the effect. You breath a subtle sigh of relief at her answer. Right. Your lusus.  
“Aaaaanyways, you didn't answer MY question!!! Where have you been?” She stares at you, eyebrows raised high on her forehead. You roll your eyes. Of all the times for her to pull this crap…  
“Just, yanno, out for a walk, clear my head,” you respond shortly.  
“Only a walk??? You haven't answered any of my messages all night!!!”  
You almost habitually pat the pocket you typically keep your communications device, only to stop when you are struck with a blurry recollection of dropping it on the floor of your respiteblock the day before.  
“I, uh… I forgot to grab my communications device before I left, I guess. Look, just… is it really that big of an issue, Zeerce? It's not like you're my caretaker,” you huff, stalking towards the kitchen. First that bronzeblood and now this. Questions, questions, questions.  
You approach the pantry, perusing your grub options. You really don't feel like eating, but with Zeerce around you can't exactly scurry off to your recuperacoon like you’d wanted. She wouldn't let you. Plus by this point, you probably have to eat something anyways, and, if you're lucky, it'll help you feel less godawful. You read the packages carefully, trying to imagine eating any of the options, and feel a wave of unease as your stomach protests the concept of eating. This isn't going to be easy.  
You're only half aware that Zeerce has become uncharacteristically quiet as you settle on grub flakes. As you grab the box and pull it off the shelf, you feel yourself tense up as two hands gently place themselves on your shoulders. It doesn't help matters that one of your shoulders is bare and sunburnt, and it takes all you have not to let out a hiss of pain.  
"Belphe, I'm sorry," Zeerce's voice says from behind you, now quieter and more candidly.  
"I was just worried about you. You seemed to be having a really hard time yesterday, and after seeing you weren't in your hive so soon after that, I was simply distraught. I just wanted to check up on you as a moirail," she admits softly, gently massaging your shoulders. You aren't entirely sure you want her doing that right now, but you feel your muscles relax some, against all odds.  
"Will you forgive me, Belphe dearest?" She croons, rubbing circles against your shoulder blades with her thumbs.  
You sigh a little, half in relaxation and half in resignation.  
"...Yeah. Yeah, ‘s alright, Zeerce. I just… I dunno, I felt shitty after those bad dreams," you admit, slowly turning to face her.  
"I'm the one who should apologize, I shouldn't have been so pissy with you.”  
Zeerce’s worried expression changes quickly and she beams at you - a rare expression. You can't help but feel a new, different sort of unease at her sudden change in mood.  
“It's no problem at all, Belphe! After all, what kind of moirail would I be if I let a little bit of temper sour things?” She smiles, already some of her characteristic smugness returning to her mannerisms as she stands back from you. Ugh.  
“Now then, now that that's all sorted… What can I do to help you feel better as quickly as possible?” She inquires with an unusually expectant tone in her voice. You frown a bit, partially in thought and partially in exasperation, and run your hand through your tangled mop of hair as you stall.  
“Uh..? Uhm...I dunno, let me get my grub flakes?” You try, knowing she's not about to let you go so easily. She tuts as you turn to set the box of cereal down on the counter nearby, and you have to suppress an eyeroll. Here it comes…  
“Well I'm not about to deny you your grub, Belphe, but… isn't there anything I can do, help you get back on your fronds and ready for action again?” She tries again, and you can feel her hovering around you while you grab a bowl, spoon and milk.  
“Zeerce, why is it so… important for me to be ‘ready for action’, again?”  
“Weeeeeell…. in all honesty, I was sort of hoping I could ask a favor of my dearest moirail.”  
Aaaaaaaand there it is. You can't help but sigh as you pour your cereal into the bowl.  
“Look, Zeerce… I, uhh… I'm really not feeling…. yanno, up for, for any sort of favors or errands right now.”  
She places her hands on you again, grasping your free arm as you're pouring milk, and this time you can't help but react, arm jerking away from her as hand presses against burnt skin. You spill the milk all over the counter, and have to step back to avoid getting milk on your clothing.  
“Zeerce, what the fuck?” You cry out, frustrated by just… everything happening all at once. Zeerce huffs indignantly, oblivious to your predicament.  
“You don't have to act like you forgive me if you can't stand me even touching you, you know!”  
“What?? You… I… It… Rrgh!!” You growl in frustration, hands flung out in front of you.  
“I'm sunburnt, Zeerce!! I flinched because you keep grabbing at it!!!”  
She studies your arms with a seemingly indifferent expression, before it seems to click for her. Mollified, she shrugs, twirling a strand of hair between the tips of her fingers.  
“Well if that's all, why didn't you say so?”  
Because I thought it was rather obvious, you think darkly to yourself, choosing to mop up the spilled milk in favor of not losing your temper at your moirail.  
As you finish cleaning up, Zeerce seems to remember whatever it is she wanted earlier, resuming her train of thought - thankfully from a safe distance this time - as you pour milk once more, successfully, into your cereal bowl.  
“Anyways, like I was saying before, I need a favor from you. It's short and quick, you'll have more than enough time to return to your hive and relax afterwards.”  
You hesitate, capping the milk and returning it to the fridge.  
“Zeerce, I dunno, I just, I just really don't know that I'm up for it…” you sigh, barely feeling up for this argument. Maybe you should just agree, get it over with...  
“Oh but it's such a small favor, I promise! It's so small, you'll hardly notice anything! I could really use your help for this, Belphe! Just this once?” She pleads, giving you boofbeast wiggler eyes, and you stop. For a second, you recall the earnest concern you had seen in the eyes of that bronzeblood from earlier…. concern that you've failed to see tonight in the eyes and actions of your desperate moirail.  
Suddenly overcome with an anger you can't explain, you scowl, turning your attention back to your cereal as you stir the flakes into the milk.  
“I said no, Zeerce.”  
You say it with finality, more conviction you've used with her in an age. It surprises you. Based on the stunned silence it receives, it surprised her, too.  
You pick up your bowl of cereal and walk past Zeerce, returning to your main block to sit on the loungeplank as you eat. Zeerce’s heels click against the floor as she follows after you, and you can tell based on her stride alone that she's rather put out. She stops in the doorway of the block and just watches you get settled, hands on her hips like a disapproving lusus.  
“Well, fine, if that's how it is,” she finally says tersely after a moment of silence, of you just leaning back on your loungeplank eating cereal, her standing in the doorway watching you.  
“I'll find someone else who’s willing to help. Someone who isn't such a useless wiggler.”  
You try not to wince at the words, or the way she spits them out so venomously, eating another spoonful of grub flakes as nonchalantly as you can.  
“Fine,” you respond shortly between bites.  
After another long moment, Zeerce storms past the loungeplank, leaving through the front door. She slams the door shut, and as you listen to the scuttlebuggy rev up and drive away, you finally feel yourself untense.  
You're going to pay for that later, you think to yourself.  
But so what? You're feeling like shit, you could use a break, another part of you decides. You turn on the tv and focus on finishing your cereal in peace.


End file.
